


Iron Hands, Iron Skin

by whalersandsailors



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Banter, Character Study, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Kaj is a lil shit, M/M, Mage Dovahkiin, and Ghorbash puts up with him, and an in depth look at orcish culture, and mass ignoring of Skyrim's main storyline, but for now lots of, inaccurate medieval terminology, it's like a never ending sidequest, specifically an illusionist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12336882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: A retired Orcish legionnaire and a Bosmer in self-exile were an unlikely pair to find themselves wandering the roads of Skyrim, always in search of adventure and gold, but mostly gold. Ghorbash the Iron Hand left his stronghold to join ranks with a mage who was talented but far too cocky for Ghorbash's taste. Theirs was a companionship that worked well, however, with one providing brawn and the other providing wit--or at the very least, successful distractions. What started as an uneasy balance turned to friendship and an even stronger bond as the two found common ground and constant danger. At least life was exciting outside of the stronghold.A collection of tales, following the misadventures of Ghorbash and Kaj--two idiots who make memories, discover love, and wreak havoc along the way.





	1. Rabbits

Dawn was breaking over the horizon, the sun’s rose glow casting warmth and light on the mountains in the distance. The swamp—with its nesting mudcrabs, gnarled trees, and bushes of deathbell—lit up with an ethereal mist, the beams of early day reflecting off dust motes and snow flurries in the air. A bird wailed softly in the distance, a crooning prayer to Azura. Everything was calm and beautiful, the swamp isolated from any nearby villages.

It was also fucking freezing.

Ghorbash was used to the chill of mountain air and certainly prided himself as a man who never complained. But why in Malacath’s name his companion wished to leave the warmth and safety of the tavern room—leaving behind a soft bed and good ale—all to be knee deep in murky creekwater digging up _mushrooms_ , Ghorbash could not begin to fathom. He flexed his fingers in his gloves, fighting off the numbness tingling in his knuckles. He sat on a fallen log, damp but sturdy, near the water. He kept his warhammer beside him but otherwise had his arms crossed tight to keep his body heat checked. How Kaj had not frozen his feet off yet was a mystery to the orc.

He stared at Kaj, with his thin tunic and rolled up britches. Kaj’s shoes and cloak lay abandoned by the log Ghorbash claimed, and all that he carried with him was a rucksack tied across his chest and a thin dagger to cut out the plants that he deemed so necessary for his alchemy to wake up in the dark hours of early morning and hike an hour's tromp away from Morthal. Kaj was blessedly silent as he worked. His blonde hair was pushed up over his high forehead, revealing his sharp brow and dark red eyes, narrowed in concentration as his fingers cleanly plucked the plants, roots and all.

Ghorbash appreciated the reprieve from conversation. For all Kaj’s bluster, he talked only to fill the air with noise which annoyed Ghorbash, but—as the orc reminded his companion time and time again—it was also a dangerous habit to have on roads infested with thieves and monsters alike.

Countless times, Ghorbash reprimanded Kaj. _You’re going to get us killed. Ambushes miles away can hear us._

Kaj would snort and shake his head. He would throw up a hand, conjuring a small orb of light, declaring how he needn’t worry about ambushes.

For someone who could barely hit a straw dummy with a sword, Kaj certainly liked to throw himself into danger.

_You’re a precocious shit._

_Precocious? My, what a word._

Ghorbash never bothered to remind Kaj that he had been an Imperial officer. Kaj did not seem the type to care. Once Kaj had convinced Ghorbash to leave his clan at Dushnikh Yal with promises of adventure and coin, Kaj was professional. No prying questions of life in the stronghold or about his brother the chieftain. No wistful musings about past loves or bawdy jokes about nights with whores. No regaling tales about fighting thieves and exploring cursed temple ruins. For as much as he loved to talk, Kaj never lent explanation about his life, why he was so far from Valenwood, or why his magic would occasionally sputter and fail him. He was a mystery, and Ghorbash swore to leave it alone. They had a mutually beneficial system that worked. They found bounties and odd jobs that gave them enough gold to keep food in their bellies while Kaj supplemented whatever meager earnings they had by cozying up to the local alchemist and selling his dubiously marked bottles of potions. They had been traveling together for months now with little to no plans for the future, but it was…pleasant. Ghorbash grew accustomed to life on the road, enjoying the sights and the pulse of bloodlust every time they encountered a troll or ne’er-do-well.

Ghorbash flinched when he heard a loud splash, followed by cursing in a foreign tongue. His good eye snapped up, scanning the waters, a hand quickly curling around the haft of his weapon. Kaj was a distance away, his hand clutching the branch of a tree close to the water as he pulled himself onto the muddy bank. He looked up, noticed Ghorbash ready in his stance, and had enough self-awareness to look embarrassed, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Kaj laughed, sounding shrill before calling out, “I slipped on a rock. I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Ghorbash stared for a moment before he sat back on the log and shook his head. He watched Kaj peel off his soaked tunic to wring out as many drops of water as he could. Kaj shivered noticeably as he readjusted the strap of his rucksack before he jogged over to Ghorbash—an impressive if not embarrassing sight as he needed to jump over logs and splash through several shallow puddles.

Standing before Ghorbash, Kaj happily produced a nirnroot from the bag, holding it up. “I heard it humming before I saw it.”

Ghorbash grunted. “Is that what you risked breaking your neck for?”

“Of course.” Kaj said it like it was obvious. “I never pass up one of these beauties.”

“How many more plants do you need?” Ghorbash asked, fully meaning how much longer they needed to be out there.

Kaj kneeled on the ground and removed everything from the bag, lining the plants out by type. He pursed his lips as he examined each of the piles.

“I need more lichen,” he said, “but I can get those on the way back.”

Kaj stood to hang his shirt from a tree branch before plopping back onto the ground. His shoulders were quaking from shivers, and Ghorbash could see the gooseflesh all up Kaj’s back and arms. He was far too skinny, Ghorbash thought. He could see Kaj’s ribs and the knobs of his spine. Again, Ghorbash could not imagine how Kaj could tolerate the cold. He watched Kaj rub his hands together, from what Ghorbash assumed was an attempt to warm them. Ghorbash blinked, in surprised fascination, when Kaj’s palms started to glow a faint orange. Kaj took one of his feet in hand, pressing his palm flat against the sole before slowly wrapping his fingers around his toes and then sliding his hand up his foot to his calf. He repeated the same motion on his other foot.

Kaj’s carefree use of the arcane was foreign to Ghorbash who was used to the practicality of the wise women of his tribes—shamans who limited themselves to simple alchemy and divination. With Kaj, he treated nature as a plaything, twisting and pulling elements to his fancy. Ghorbash stopped watching once Kaj began the ministrations on his thighs through his pant legs. Ghorbash shrugged the furs off his shoulders, leaving his arms bare save for his chest armor and gloves. He stood and dropped the furs onto Kaj who promptly spluttered, shoving them off to glare at Ghorbash.

“You need them more than I do,” Ghorbash stated. “I’m starting a fire. I want breakfast.”

Kaj frowned, despite pulling the furs tighter around his shoulders. “I can always give you a spark.”

“The last time I let you start the fire, you singed off your eyebrows.”

Kaj scoffed. “Hair grows back.”

Ghorbash pointedly did not look at Kaj as he retrieved the tinder box from his own satchel. He found a clear spot near the mud of the river where pushed aside debris. As he broke sticks off loose limbs lying on the ground—feeling for older wood that wasn’t too damp—he watched Kaj from the corner of his eye. Kaj was taking thin strips of leather, too thin to be salvageable for anything else, and tied them around the bundles of flowers, grass pods, and even around the bulbous mushrooms. Kaj made quick work of it, looping the leather around his fingers and pulling them tight with the grace of an embroiderer.

Ghorbash built a small pyramid of sticks, and with the help of dried leaves and the flint, the bundle began to smoke. Ghorbash waited until the tips of the flames ate through the top of the bundle before leaning back and digging out some of the dried chunks of venison that he and Kaj had been eating for the past fortnight. He noticed the supply was getting low.

“Food,” he grunted at Kaj, not bothering to look before tossing a piece at Kaj.

Kaj caught the meat but not without biting out a curse in that guttural language of his. Ghorbash allowed himself to smile slightly. He was beginning to know all of Kaj’s words even if Kaj refused to translate them for him.

“I wish we had rabbit,” Kaj muttered through a mouthful of the jerky.

“We would have to hunt for that.”

“Hunting would be faster if you would let me paralyze them.”

“I’m not eating anything that you’ve hexed.”

“’Hexed’ isn’t what I would call it—“

“I don’t care. It’s unnatural.”

“Fine. You can keep wasting hours—“

“We wouldn’t be eating right now if I didn’t hunt for us—“

“—sneaking up on elk over and over—“

“You can’t even shoot an arrow straight.”

“—and I will be cooking up a nice rabbit, laughing at you.”

Ghorbash didn't retaliate, focusing instead on chewing the jerky. It was too salty, but the flavor was still rich, melting into his tongue. Rabbit was too pale for his tastes. He watched as Kaj scooted closer to the fire, the color of the flame casting his yellow skin to an even deeper shade. Kaj ate his jerky slowly, breaking small pieces off with his hands before popping them in his mouth and chewing a ridiculous amount of times. His eyes were distant as he stared into the fire—his shivering finally gone. Instead, he kept tapping one of his feet rapidly in the dirt. Kaj’s myriad habits confused Ghorbash, but at least the fool was familiar. He was predictable, despite all his quirks.

Ghorbash mused to himself, thinking back to Dushnikh Yal. Familial ties had drawn him home, but he had found himself missing the companionship of his fellow soldiers in the Imperial army. Oddly, he had felt safer with his brethren-in-arms on the battlefield than he did sleeping in the walls of his tribe’s stronghold. Being the brother of the chief, Ghorbash knew that the members of the clan expected insurgence at any moment especially from the likes of a retired fighter. Neither his brother nor the clan were too stupid to let their guard down completely. All the same, Ghorbash enjoyed being out, no longer feeling eyes on his back at all times.

Things were simpler with Kaj. Things were safer.

His thoughts were interrupted by Kaj belching. Ghorbash closed his eyes, running his tongue across his teeth. Simpler. Yes, simpler. He heard Kaj rustling, and he opened his eyes in time to find Kaj sprawled on his back, his chest bare to the sky and one hand resting on his flat stomach.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Ghorbash said.

“Wasn’t planning to,” Kaj countered. “I just… I just need a breather.”

From what, Ghorbash didn’t bother to ask. They needed to get back on the road soon, he decided. The sun had climbed high into the sky, and they were wasting precious daylight hours. They would have to spend another night in Morthal. No time for hunting, they would just have to buy their food from the tavern. Maybe they would have rabbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll add more to this as I write it. I've wanted to write something for my Skyrim oc for ages now.


	2. Something Ends, Something Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All relationships have beginnings.

Early morning, when pale sunlight bounced off ragged, snowy peaks, Ghorbash knelt close to the smoldering charcoals in the fire pit in Dushnikh Yal. The air was cool against his skin, and the fading fog left dots of dew across his bare shoulders and face. Mornings in the stronghold were the only times when Ghorbash could have quiet; precious, rare quiet. His eyes slid shut, his chest falling with a deep exhale. He savored the brief time alone when he could gather his thoughts with relative privacy. His brothers and sisters would slumber until the sun warmed the ground. Only young Nagrub was awake, and he was perched on the wall paces away, his hand idly resting on a bow as his eyes scanned the horizon.

Nagrub was among Ghorbash's favorites, though Ghorbash never doled out needless affection. The boy had an intensity to him but remained patient and quiet, much like the smoldering coals. Ghorbash respected such traits in a warrior and was reminded of his days in the Legion. The soldiers under Ghorbash had been green, pockmarked youngsters. What they lacked in finesse, they made up with brashness and dogged loyalty. Pathetic, most of them. Instead, it was the quiet ones that attracted Ghorbash's attention and good regard. The quiet ones were smart, observant. Dangerous but restrained. The quiet ones became officers. Or, in Nagrub’s case, chieftains.

It was only a matter of time until Nagrub and his brother Umurn challenged the chief for their birthright. Umurn was strong but not a warrior. Thus Ghorbash saw a clear victor. He wondered how Nagrub would rule as a chief. Would his first decree be an act of mercy, sparing his brother Umurn his life or slaughtering all threats to his power?

Ghorbash opened his eyes when he felt light warm his cheeks. His gaze rested on Nagrub as the young orc toyed with the string of his bow. Ghorbash felt his time in the tribe coming to a close. Even if Nagrub was a fair, kind chief, he would not be so stupid as to leave the predecessor’s brother alive. When the time came, Ghorbash expected Nagrub to give him a proper warrior's death.

Standing, Ghorbash squashed the unbidden surge of fear that seized his stomach. He growled under his breath and rocked on the balls of his feet to bring feeling back into his toes. Cowardice was ugly. Ghorbash knew that his place in the stronghold was strange, when his brother accepted him back from the Legion with an embrace rather than a sword. His days in the family were growing short, and he certainly was growing no younger.

_Coward,_ his mind whispered harshly. Ghorbash ignored it, rolling his shoulders and reaching for his sword. Sparring with the dummy always got his blood flowing and made him feel better. He paused when he saw Nagrub jump to attention and arm the bow with an arrow. He called out to someone beyond the walls.

“Halt or I shoot!”

Ghorbash’s grip on his sword tightened as he waited. They were obviously sentient, whoever was approaching, but most people stayed on the roads, hastening to and from Markarth. Forsworn had made travelling cross country too dangerous for the average traveler.

Ghorbash’s heart sank with the sudden realization that it might be Forsworn themselves approaching. The primitive people had ignored Dushnikh Yal, but that did not remove them as a threat from Ghorbash’s mind. He unsheathed his sword and rushed up the rampart to join Nagrub. He spotted two figures, close enough to see that they were armed but far enough away for them to be harmless. For the most part.

One of the figures raised their hands, showing their empty palms. They called out in a lilting tenor.

“We want no fight,” the man cried. “We need help.”

Ghorbash frowned. Help? Were the travelers injured, ambushed on the road? Forsworn in disguise? Bandits that had grown bored and a bit bold?

Nagrub glanced at Ghorbash, as though asking permission to act. Ghorbash maintained a stony silence. Better to let the boy make his own decision.

Nagrub called back to the travelers. “Lay down your weapons and come closer. We can talk!”

The pair acquiesced. The one that had not spoken unstrapped a bow and a quiver, dropping them in the ground with an axe. The man with the foreign accent laid down a pair of long daggers. They were slow to approach and wisely kept their hands extended where the orcs could see them. Once they were closer, Ghorbash narrowed his eyes in surprise.

Not one, but two bosmer. One of the elves was dressed in simple clothing, no armor, his hair in a tight topknot. The other wore a mismatched motley of leather and fur armor, most of it ill-fitting. The armored one pulled his hood down, revealing a sharp, sallow face, his red eyes glinting.

He was the first to speak.

“My name is Kaj. This is my friend Faendal. We hail from Riverwood.”

“You're far from home,” Ghorbash observed.

The one called Kaj fidgeted, his eyes resting for a second too long on Ghorbash before moving his gaze imploringly between both orcs.

“I need help,” he said. “I hoped to speak with your wise woman.”

“What for?” Nagrub barked.

The elf kept clenching his jaw. _Nervous habit_ , Ghorbash guessed. Faendal shifted behind Kaj, eyeing the bow in Nagrub's hands with unease.

“I seek her advice in the ways of the arcane,” Kaj explained.

Nagrub bristled at that. “We don't let outlanders in our walls. And we don't share our ways. Go back where you came from.”

Kaj’s shoulders dropped. The jaw clenched again, but his voice was steady when he spoke again.

“I am begging you. I've tried the counsel of other mages, but none of them could help.”

Nagrub readied his bow, but Ghorbash raised his hand. He may have acknowledged Nagrub’s need to grow into leadership, but Ghorbash was still his elder. Nagrub lowered the bow.

“What advice do you think you think you'll find with us?” Ghorbash asked, his curiosity piqued.

Kaj wet his lips, obviously turning over words in his mind. Behind him, Faendal shifted uneasily, backing away from the walls.

“Advice on a curse,” Kaj finally said. “And how I should lift it.”

Ghorbash leaned forward, careful on the sharp edges of the posts. “A curse on whom?”

A rueful smile on his face, Kaj broke eye contact with Ghorbash before grimacing and looking back.

“Me. A curse on me.”

_He's desperate,_ Ghorbash noted. _And desperate men are dangerous._

No one spoke. Kaj’s ears were turning pink, and he looked displeased about admitting the curse. Even his companion was staring in surprise at the back of his head. Nagrub grumbled beside him, and Ghorbash shared his desire that the elves leave.

Kaj forced a tightlipped smile onto his face. “Please. I can't leave empty handed again.”

Ghorbash considered, weighing the options. The stronghold stirred to life behind him. He could hear a couple of his brothers and sisters gathering at the base of the rampart, murmuring amongst themselves. No one had approached their walls in months, so naturally, they congregated to listen to the odd outlander argue with Ghorbash and Nagrub. The more his kin stared, the more restless Nagrub became and the more Ghorbash wanted the elves to leave.

Kaj tried again, a ridiculous whine twisting his voice. “What can I do to gain your trust?”

Ghorbash leaned closed to Nagrub, keeping his voice low. “Ask him for something difficult. Something that will make him leave but not come back.”

Nagrub stared at Ghorbash, before clearing his throat for another opportunity to assert his authority.

“A bargain!” he yelled, the volume of his voice more a benefit for the small crowd of spectators that had grown behind him. “Bring us the briar heart of a Forsworn elder. And we may let you enter.”

Kaj immediately nodded his assent even as his companion looked ill.

“Yes, yes! I accept your challenge, and we will return.”

Kaj started to jog back to his abandoned equipment, and—staring balefully after him—Faendal followed. The elves retrieved their weapons and disappeared up the path past the juniper trees and rocks.

Ghorbash clapped a hand on Nagrub's shoulder.

“We won’t see them again,” Ghorbash assured him.

Walking down the rampart, Ghorbash shouldered his way through his brothers and sisters as they wandered back to their duties, their shared excitement quickly waning. Ghorbash noticed his brother Burguk leaning against the door of the longhouse, watching Nagrub relax back into a nonaggressive pose. His eyes met Ghorbash, and he smirked.

Ghorbash recognized the pride on his brother’s gaze as Burguk nodded to him, looked at Nagrub again, and then walked up the path towards the mines. Ghorbash’s sentiments on Nagrub were not alone, apparently.

Ghorbash found himself imagining his own death again. He stood before the straw dummy. He closed his eyes, breathed deep through his nose, and struck the dummy hard with his sword. And again. And again. And again.

(.)

Two weeks uneventfully passed. Ghorbash’s dreams grew vivid and feverish, like that of an animal going rabid and deteriorating before succumbing to the illness. He retired to bed early, most of his family circled around the fire pit outside or curled beside a lantern inside the longhouse. He turned restlessly on his narrow bed, unable to toss the sensation of the dream.

He had been falling for what felt like hours, an endless plummet. He awoke with a jolt when he landed on something cold and sharp. He brushed a hand across his chest, his fingers chasing away the phantom pain of being impaled.

It was just a dream.

A cry bellowed from outside. Arob was on guard duty that evening, and she was calling for the others to join her. Ghorbash pulled a tunic on and hurried outside to see what the commotion was about. Dusk had faded, and the only light outside was from the fire pit and their torches. A light drizzle misted the air, and the flames sizzled as water hit it.

Nagrub stood by his mother’s side on top of the wall. Ghorbash could only make out their forms from the torch in Nagrub's hands. He pointed at something in the dark.

“It's him,” he cried. “It’s the elf.”

“Open the gate,” Arob called down to the others.

Ghorbash and Umurn pulled open the gate. Everyone was quiet as Nagrub clambered down the rampart to greet the unexpected return of the bosmer. The elf was unaccompanied this time, and he walked slowly, his feet sinking and dragging in the mud. Pieces of his armor had been replaced, a portion of his hood stained by a dark fluid. Part of the exposed skin of his arm was rubbery and pulled tight from a recent burn. He lifted his head, his thin face haggard and scratched. He detached a ball of twine from his belt and held it out to Nagrub.

Ghorbash blinked. Not twine, but the briar heart. Up close, he could see the vicious red color and spiny edges poking through the string. It would seem that Kaj kept his side of the bargain.

Nagrub wordlessly took the heart. He squeezed it hard in his hand. He looked back at his father. Burguk watched all of this from his shelter beside the longhouse. His arms were folded across his chest, but he otherwise said nothing.

Nagrub turned to face Kaj and extended his arm to the elf.

“Welcome back, outlander.”

Kaj smiled, nodded. “Thank you.” He looked at all the tribesmen, examining each of their faces. He paused a second longer when he saw Ghorbash, likely recognizing from the fortnight past. Looking at Ghorbash, but addressing whoever would listen, Kaj spoke, “My request is the same. I wish to speak with your wise woman. As soon as I can.”

Arob answered him. “She is still in her hut. But be brief, outlander. She is old, and the hour is late.”

Kaj ducked his head. Ghorbash saw his eyes squeeze shut under his hood, from relief and exhaustion. Arob led him to Murbul's hut. Ghorbash watched as Kaj greeted the elder woman, and when Arob left the two of them, Kaj sank to the ground, sitting cross legged with his back to the wall. When he removed his hood , revealing his sharp ears, closely shorn hair, and faded red tattoos, Ghorbash dragged his eyes away. He had seen strange peoples during his time in the Legion. No need for him to be fixated on this wayfaring elf.

The arrival of the bosmer reignited everyone’s energy, and despite the rain, most of his brothers and sisters huddled around the fire pit. They amused themselves with stories and songs. Umurn passed a bottle of his homemade mead, and by the fire, with warm drink in his belly, Ghorbash felt the demons from his nightmares fade.

One by one, they retired to bed. The fire died down, and the rain stopped as the clouds parted, revealing a large waxing moon overhead. Ghorbash stifled a yawn, and as he stood with a stretch, he saw that the elf sat by himself in Murbul's hut. His hands were folded in his lap, his chin tucked into his chest. Murbul must have left him a while ago, and without moving, the elf had fallen asleep.

A cursed one, huh? Murbul was wise, yes. Age honed her experience with herbs, spells, and the ways of the earth, but she was no mage. Ghorbash was skeptical that she would be able to help the elf at all. He turned and entered the longhouse. He hoped for a dreamless sleep.

(.)

The rock warblers rose with the sun, and their piercing songs filled the sky as morning light illuminated the tips of the mountains. Despite the late night, Ghorbash still rose before his brothers and sisters. He crept out of the longhouse to claim his usual spot beside the remains of the fire. There was enough of a chill in the air for him to consider reigniting the embers, but he decided against it, relishing the cool air that filled his lungs and helped clear his head.

He placed his armor and sword on the bench beside him. He knelt on the ground, damp from last night’s rain and the morning dew. He closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply. His mind played through the events of last night, but he fought against the curiosity to observe the guest. If said guest was even still there. Ghorbash assumed that the elf did not find the answers he wanted, and he easily could have spirited himself away in the night.

Ghorbash’s ears twitched when he heard the shuffle of clothes as someone sat on the bench nearest him. The footsteps were much lighter than Ghorbash was used to hearing in the tribe, so he was far from surprised to open his eyes to the elf sitting there, his red eyes trained on some distant point in the mountains. His eyes briefly met Ghorbash’s gaze, but neither man deigned to speak first. Ghorbash turned away, let his eyes close again. Whatever the elf wanted, Ghorbash knew he had nothing to give.

He resumed his meditations, allowing the rush of wind, the strains of birdsong, and the elf’s quiet breathing to blend into one and the same. Any memory of his dreams disappeared into vague feelings and blurry images.

“You were a legionnaire?”

The elf's voice was soft, pitched deeper than the shrill tenor Ghorbash remembered from weeks prior. He shot the elf a sharp look, knowing all too well the effect that his eyes—one a milky white, the other icy blue—had in shutting people up.

The elf, however, seemed undeterred. His finger traced the wood grain in the bench before he jerked his chin at Ghorbash's sword.

“The seal of Akatosh,” he mused, likely referring to the small dragon engraved into the pommel of the sword. “I've only seen Imperial soldiers carry those. Unless, of course, you took it.”

Ghorbash stiffened at the suggestion that he did not rightly earn the weapon.

“Of course it's mine,” he snapped.

He yanked himself to his feet and starting tugging his armor on. Ghorbash had no intention of wasting his morning entertaining the outlander. He figured he could take his morning training elsewhere, venturing  higher into the mountains to fight wolves or perhaps a troll, if he were lucky.

Kaj craned his head back to look at Ghorbash’s face. “So you _were_ a legionnaire? I thought orcs who left their strongholds were banished.”

Ghorbash growled. “That's not your business.”

Kaj released a tired sigh before standing. At full height, the crown of his head met Ghorbash's jaw, and up this close, Ghorbash could make out the different tints of red in the elf's eyes and the week's stubble, the blonde hair pale enough to blend with his skin.

“I’m not trying to anger you,” Kaj said. “I only wanted—”

He stopped. Ghorbash waited, frowning at him.

“I need a bodyguard,” Kaj finished abruptly.

“What?” Ghorbash squinted at the burn on Kaj's arms and the scratch that disappeared under his armor. They were deep, ugly marks that looked to be the work of a hagraven. “What happened to your friend? Did he die?”

Kaj looked taken aback. “My friend—who? Faendal?” Kaj laughed, of all things. “No, no. He's fine. Beckoned home by the letter of his dear sweetheart. I can't blame him. She was pretty.”

“I take it you didn't get what you needed from Murbul?”

Kaj dodged the question. “I can pay you. Not much, but it can be a large percentage of whatever gold I make.”

Ghorbash stared at him as he buckled the final straps of his chest piece and picked up his sword. “And why the hell do you want _me_ as a bodyguard?”

Kaj thinned his lips, a grim look. “I know enough about orcish tradition to see that you don’t belong.”

Ghorbash stopped breathing, his thoughts immediately to his brother Nagrub. His face remained stoic even as his mind raced. _Malacath rewards only the strong. He cuts down the weak._

_Only the strong. He cuts down the weak._

_He cuts down the weak._

Kaj waited for an answer. In his restless energy, he was rocking  slightly on the balls of his feet. Ghorbash curled his fingers around the haft of his sword, feeling the worn leather against the calloused ridges of his hand. The door of the longhouse opened behind him, and he checked to see who was interrupting his conversation with the outlander.

Nagrub looked away from Ghorbash's gaze at first, in seeming obeisance. Then his timidity passed, and he drew his eyes up to defiantly meet Ghorbash's gaze.

That was all Ghorbash needed make his decision. He felt it. Deep in his bones, he knew that he had grown too old for the stronghold.

Kaj had a curious frown on his face, apparently sensing what passed between the two orcs, but when Ghorbash turned back to him with a nod and extended hand, he grinned.

Ghorbash grunted, buckling his sword to his waist.

“When do we leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao I promise I'll add to this story as I go, not in any chronological order. I've gotten a recent surge of inspiration.


	3. A Rare Thing, Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaj and Ghorbash arrive in Windhelm. The townspeople are less than inviting.

Kaj’s voice rose higher and louder as he argued with the shopkeeper about the prices. The dark elf behind the counter of Sadri’s Used Wares refused to budge. Ghorbash watched from the doorway with his arms folded over his chest.

“Thirty gold for an amethyst?” Kaj nearly shouted. “I could get over a hundred in Solitude for this!”

“Well, you’re not in Solitude,” Sadri said, his own voice rising to match Kaj’s.

“It’s near the size of my fist.” Kaj slammed his palm on the counter. “You’re trying to cheat me!”

Sadri leaned dangerously close to Kaj, jabbing a finger at his shoulder. “I don’t know where you got it. Could’ve been from a tomb for all I know. I’m not a fucking fence for your filched goods, _bosmer_.” He spat the word out like he tasted something foul in the air. “I get enough trouble from the city guard as it is. I don’t want to be dragged to prison for your rubbish.”

Ghorbash remembered the scene that took place when he and Kaj first entered Windhelm that evening, when they arrived right before nightfall. A dunmer woman was being harassed by a large group of town folk who were quick to accuse her of every catastrophe that had befallen Skyrim in the past few years. There were a couple guardsmen up the stairs by the tavern who watched all of this without intervening. The men only dispersed when Ghorbash got between them and the woman, telling them to back off.

The men had grumbled to themselves and skulked away, but Ghorbash knew in his gut that he had made some enemies that night. He would sleep better the sooner he and Kaj left Windhelm behind them.

At first, the dunmer woman had snapped at him and Kaj, demanding to know if they hated all her kind as well. Kaj had scoffed before lowering his hood. Seeing his ears, the woman relaxed. She realized that she was among friends. Kaj stepped close to her, asking if this was normal, and she shrugged. Windhelm was not a kind city to outsiders, especially the dark elves in the Gray Quarter and the Argonians on the docks. She suggested that Kaj keep his hood up if he didn’t want trouble.

Ghorbash had offered to walk her home, a good excuse to have a native show them around. He and Kaj had no food and almost no money on them, and they desperately needed to find someone with whom to trade their goods. Well. Their scavenged items, more like.

Legally obtained.

Most of them.

“The name of your shop is used wares! Do you undersell all your patrons? How do you have _any_ customers?” Kaj’s fists clenched at his side started to glow dangerously.

Ghorbash stepped forward. “Kaj. Calm down.”

Kaj whipped his head around to glare at Ghorbash, but when Sadri pulled a knife from under his counter to place between them, he controlled himself enough to make the orange glow in his knuckles dim.

“Better listen to your friend. Smart man, him.”

Ghorbash placed a hand on Kaj’s shoulders, squeezed, and pulled him back. “Look. We can trade for more than gold. We’ll take your price for the gems if you throw in something else. I, for one, am running low on arrows.”

Sadri’s lip curled, but he stopped himself from making a smart remark. He shook his head, placing his knife back in a cabinet under the counter. “Very well. Maybe then you two will leave me in peace, Azura willing. I’ve got a quiver with different makings in the back. Let me fetch it.”

Sadri disappeared behind a curtained door. Kaj was breathing harshly through his nose, and Ghorbash was still pressing his hand hard on the elf’s shoulder.

“Don’t fight my battles for me,” Kaj muttered.

“That’s why you hired me.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know. But we don’t need you burning down any buildings. Gray Quarter or not, I don’t want happened in Riften to happen again.”

Kaj snorted. “If I recall, you’re the one who started throwing punches in Riften.”

“Doesn’t matter. The man’s right. We don’t want issue with the guards here.” Ghorbash thought of his sword, with the Imperial crest on it. It would be dangerous to end up in prison with Imperial paraphernalia in a city run by Stormcloaks.

Some of the tension in Kaj’s back loosened. Ghorbash let his hand slide from his shoulder down his back, and—upon realizing the intimacy of the gesture—he gave a Kaj a perfunctory pat before withdrawing his hand. Kaj grabbed his pack from where he had dropped it on the floor at his feet. He rifled through it until he found his meager pouch of gold. He pulled a couple of coins out of the pouch and left them on the counter.

“Here,” he said, waving his fingers at the coins before replacing the pouch in his bag and hoisting the strap around his torso. “You get whatever else you want from him, but make sure he fucking pays what he offered. If I have to look at his face again, I _will_ summon an atronach to shove its flaming arm up his arse, guards be damned.”

Ghorbash raised an eyebrow, not believing the threat at all but letting Kaj make his bluff without comment. “And where are you headed?” he asked.

“To get us food at the tavern.” Kaj rubbed a hand against his cheek, scratching. “I’ll feel better with some food in me. Preferably in a rented room.”

With that, Kaj ducked out of the general goods store. It was dark outside, the braziers were lit along the wall, and snow was falling heavily. Ghorbash seconded the elf’s sentiments about a warm, dry room.

When Sadri returned with the arrows, Ghorbash selected a bundle of dwarven ones. They were the only ones worth taking, though he kept his observation about the rusty points to himself. Sadri parted with some coins for the amethyst and other gemstones with a mutter under his breath, but he seemed far less willing to argue with Ghorbash than he had with Kaj. Ghorbash pocketed the tiny profit and put the new arrows in his own quiver. Pulling his hood up and tightening his cloak around his shoulders, he braced himself for the cold and left the store. The Gray Quarter was dark with the imposing high walls making the alleyways foreboding and claustrophobic. There was some shrieks and laughter coming from the bar, but Ghorbash assumed Kaj had headed to the tavern in the center of town. More likely for them to get a private bunk in the larger inn—for more money, unfortunately, but the two of them preferred their privacy in the cities.

The falling snow hit Ghorbash in the face, making him squint as he trudged up the stairs leading to the town square. He was careful to not slip on the slick rock, worn from centuries of ice freezing on it and feet wearing down its surface. The night was eerily bright as the fresh snow reflected the light of the braziers, and the clouds above were a dusty gray. Nevertheless, the snow blurred his vision, and when he passed the gate for the docks, he bumped into a little girl. She was a strange sight given the part of town. She was neither dunmer nor argonian, but human. She was bundled up for the weather, but her upturned, pink nose poked from above a threadbare scarf, and her eyes were red and watering from the cold. In her gloveless hands, she clutched a basket full of winter greenery and hardy, northern flowers.

She squeaked, hunching her shoulders. “Excuse me! I didn’t see you.”

Ghorbash instinctively put his hands out to push her away but stopped realizing that the girl could not be more than ten years old. He frowned thinking of the lateness of the hour and the increasingly bad storm. He also remembered hearing the rumors of a killer lurking in Windhelm’s streets. It was hardly a safe place for a little girl.

“Are you headed home?” he asked her.

She peeked up at him, but when she saw his shadowy, hooded face, her eyes widened. She dipped her head again. “Soon enough. I was hoping to sell more.”

He looked at the basket, assuming she meant those. “Where are your parents?”

“Dead. I live with Shahvee down by the docks. She’s nice.”

Ghorbash nodded, unsure how to respond to the girl’s candidness. “Well. Get yourself home soon. It’s not safe at night.”

“I can take care of myself.” She defiantly raised her head, though the snotty pink nose took away some of the effectiveness of her bravado. “Say, mister, would you like to buy one of my flowers?”

She held out the basket for him to see the small wreaths of snowberries and the wildflowers. He hesitated. The only gold he had on him was the small amount he had earned for the gems.

“How much?”

Likely used to being ignored like a beggar, the girl perked up, the scarf sliding down her face enough to reveal a gap toothed smile and chapped lips. “Just a copper per flower!”

It was an impulsive decision, and Ghorbash knew in the back of his mind that Kaj would throw a tantrum. But Ghorbash pulled out his coin purse and took a handful of the coins without counting them. To his credit, he didn’t grab the entire contents, but judging by the girl’s clothes, she had probably never held a single gold coin in her life.

Ghorbash held the small fortune in his large palm before her. “I’ll take all you got.”

The girl was stunned into silence before she whooped and jumped on her feet. She thrust her whole basket toward him. With the gold coins filling her small hands, she laughed loudly and jubilantly.

“Thank you, mister! Shahvee will be so happy! Thank you!”

Ghorbash slid the handle of the basket over his arm. “Good. Now go home. You’ll be safer there.”

“I will!” She grinned up at him before running toward the docks gate, pushing open the wicket door with her shoulder.

Ghorbash sighed. He looked into his coin purse, counting what was left. He pocketed it and continued toward the tavern. No guardsmen in sight this time. He opened one of the tavern’s doors, and the warm air wafted over him, the sudden temperature shift making his nostrils sting. Thankfully, the common room was up the stairs, so he was able to approach the bar with no harassment. He asked the owner if a bosmer had been through yet. Without looking up from the mug she was wiping, she said in her nasal voice that the wood elf was in the second room to the left.

“Let yourself in. You’re already paid for.”

Feeling embarrassed, not entirely sure why, Ghorbash grunted a thank you before heading down the hall. He pushed open the door to the room without knocking, and he found Kaj stripped to his trousers and socks sitting cross legged on the rug in the middle of the room. It was a tiny room—one bed, a dresser, and chair—but large enough that Ghorbash figured they could comfortably share the bed. They had slept in worse places.

Kaj was digging through his potions, sorting through the vials and setting aside the ones that had cracked or were missing cork stops.

“So were you successful in not killing our beloved Sir Sedri’s Used Wares?” he asked without looking up.

Ghorbash placed the basket of flowers on the dresser. He took off his cloak and hood, draping them on the lone chair in the corner. He locked the door out of habit before sitting on the bed and removing his shoes.

“He was civil with me. You, on the other hand, enjoy starting arguments.”

“Or,” Kaj said, raising his eyebrows and smirking up at Ghorbash, “people don’t argue with you because you’re terrifying. Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

“Not all of us are as vain as you, Kaj.”

The quip earned Ghorbash a delighted laugh, as though Kaj were always a little surprised when Ghorbash joked with him. With Kaj’s attention back to his potions, Ghorbash let himself smile.

Kaj took the abandoned vials and dumped them into one of the dresser drawers for the poor innkeep to find later. He paused when he saw the basket.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking up one of the bundles of flowers.

Ghorbash shrugged. “Found it by the docks. Figured you could use them for your potions.” He conveniently did not mention the gold. Kaj was in a good mood, and he didn’t want to sour it first thing before bed.

Kaj had a strange look in his eyes, confused, almost worried. He tucked the flower back into the basket, but his eyes lingered on it for a few seconds more as if no one had given him something without reason before. He shook his head a little before slyly smiling at Ghorbash.

“Thoughtful,” he said. “You’re full of surprises.”

Ghorbash tossed his boots to the other side of the room before scooting back on the bed until his back hit the wall.

“What did you get for food?”

“Oh.” Kaj stooped to pick up a couple plates that he had lain beside his bag. “Salmon. The meat looked old, but it’s warm.”

He handed Ghorbash one of the plates and joined him on the bed, their shoulders pressed together as they ate. Ghorbash felt the warmth in his chest, and his skin tingled where their bare shoulders touched. He ignored it by eating faster.

Once he finished and wiped the plate clean with a piece of bread torn off the dark loaf Kaj had also bought for them, Ghorbash leaned his head back against the wall.

“Where do you want to go come morning?”

Kaj blinked at him. “In the morning?”

Ghorbash thought of the Gray Quarter, the townspeople harassing the dunmer woman, of the sequestered Argonians, of the dead woman found in the cemetery, and of the little girl selling flowers in the dark.

“What? You love this city enough to stay? Maybe there’s a house for sale, and we can move right in.”

Kaj chuckled, but it withered in his mouth. He was quiet for a few seconds, hesitating before he asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I don’t want to stay here longer than we need to.” Ghorbash bent over to dig his flask out of his bag. “It stinks of the war here.”

Kaj didn’t answer to that, and instead put a fraction more of his weight against Ghorbash’s shoulder. Ghorbash took a swig from his flask before offering it to Kaj. Kaj accepted it, smelling it curiously before sipping. The two of them shared the silence, passing the flask back and forth as the noise from the patrons upstairs filtered through the crooked floorboards. They could hear laughing, singing. A couple men got into a tussle and had to be broken up by the nasally innkeep before she kicked them out.

Ghorbash sighed, and when he held out the flask for Kaj to take, he realized that the elf had fallen asleep against the wall and against Ghorbash’s shoulder. Ghorbash moved slowly, putting the flask on the dresser before sliding Kaj flat onto the bed and covering him with the furs.

As Ghorbash extinguished the lanterns in the room, he moved the basket to sit by Kaj’s bag. In his mind, he was rehearsing his excuse for when Kaj realized that there was less money than there should be. It was a small comfort that the little girl and Shahvee would have plenty to eat for the next week while he and Kaj would have to pilfer from strangers’ gardens.

But as he carefully slid onto the bed beside Kaj, letting Kaj’s body heat and breaths lull him closer to sleep, he remembered the little girl’s laugh. He remembered Kaj’s sad eyes as he looked at the flowers.

He would deal with it in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check me out on [tumblr!](http://whalersandsailors.tumblr.com)


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